Thursday, February 26, 2015

“More God,” Oliver says as we sit eating lunch together.“You want me to teach you more about God?,” I ask.“Uh-huh,” he says, chewing on his sunbutter and jelly
sandwich, his eyes wide and expectant.Moments earlier, Oliver had told me he was sick, his hand
clasped over his mouth. “Oliver needa bucket,” he said, his voiced strained.“You don’t need a bucket,” I replied. “It’s time to eat
lunch. Have you ever heard of the story The
Boy Who Cried Wolf?”We’re in the midst of the “Oliver do me-self” stage. We say
one thing; he says the opposite. We tell him to do something and he finds a
million things to delay his fate. And, he lies sometimes…a developmental
(albeit sad) milestone.Thus led to a conversation about lying as he finally sat
down in his chair to eat lunch. “We don’t lie Oliver. God tells us not to and
it’s not nice. What if mom told you she was going to buy you a new toy and then
she never did buy you that toy? That would be a lie. You wouldn’t like that,” I
said, trying to think of an example on the fly. “You shouldn’t tell me you’re
sick if you really aren’t sick.”“Uh-huh,” Oliver says, scrunching his face. And after a
short pause: “More God?”We sit and I explain more of the Ten Commandments,
highlighting the ones that apply to him the most right now in his two year old
life. No stealing, honoring your parents, remembering the Sabbath Day. I
realize that part of the reason he’s asking so many questions is because he’s
trying to delay the nap that inevitably comes after lunch.And as Oliver and I sit in conversation, I think about our sweet
eldest son, Elijah, and all the missed opportunities he’s had. I think about
the questions he hasn’t been able to ask and the answers I didn’t think to give
him. I think about the lies he hasn’t been able to tell and the missed
opportunity to learn as a result. The guilt, oh, the guilt.I wish Elijah could ask me a million annoying questions and
I could exasperatedly answer him. How much of his disability is simply a result
of missed opportunities: things he wasn’t able to see, textures he wasn’t able
to touch, and questions he wasn’t able to ask?More help, God. I can’t do this parenting thing on my own.

Monday, February 9, 2015

I wrote the following two weeks ago and never hit publish. I don't know why, I think I got distracted and I'm not sure my head is attached to my body these days. Even still, it all rings true...

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As it gets harder, it almost gets easier.

My memory of a life without kids is distant and so far away. I remember the days of sleeping for twelve hours in a row and watching TV more than I should, but the young gal who did such things seems like a person I do not know. It seems like I've lived in this pattern of sleep and no sleep and wiping and fixing and helping and cooking and serving for an eternity.

And in some ways, it makes it easier.

I've been here before. I've done this a few times. I'm confident in caring for a baby and it doesn't seem hard, but rather nostalgic in some strange way. And, so, while it can feel like there are a lot of children at my house - when really there's only three - it's somehow getting easier while simultaneously getting harder. I'm pulled in so many different directions that it seems like there could be ten children living here and it wouldn't be any harder than it is now (okay, scratch that. I just imagined ten kids in my house and my head almost exploded).

The confidence that comes from being a somewhat-seasoned parent is calming and comforting. I've been at this thing for almost eight years and I have no idea how that even happened. I blinked and the time is gone. Perhaps that is what makes it easier - the realization that this all happens so, so fast. Sure, there are hard days, but soon a new day will come. And that day might be hard too, but it will be hard in a different way and things are never boring.Just when you think you've got things figured out, you don't.

And, so, I sit here and try to enjoy it all. Sure, my to-do list is the same list that I had sitting on my counter two weeks ago. Yes, I kind of feel like I'm running a marathon on a treadmill every single day. And it's hard.

But as it gets harder, it somehow gets easier. Perhaps because I cannot remember what easy looks like. And, really, I wouldn't have it any other way.

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And that do-to list? Yep, still the same one. Things added, things crossed off.

About Elijahland

This is a story of overcoming the odds, putting trust in God, and the miracle of prayer. Our son, Elijah, was born in August of 2007. As a result of the oxygen deprivation that occured during his birth he spent his first three (agonizing) weeks in the hospital. When he was seven days old, we were told that Elijah had "severe brain damage" on both sides of his brain. At that moment we entered Elijahland and we've been here ever since. We're learning to live with the diagnoses Elijah has started to accumulate, but mostly we're grateful that God chose us to be his parents. It is truly a privilege to live in Elijahland with our handsome boy. Thanks for visiting.